


Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

by josthockeythings



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, Dom!Freddie, Dubious Consent, M/M, Saddness, Spanking, Sub!Tyson, bad form BDSM, it's not proper, not BDSM au, there are some red flags, will explain in note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josthockeythings/pseuds/josthockeythings
Summary: Tyson is having trouble adjusting to things in Toronto. It's just not the same as Colorado, as Nate. Thankfully he has a few friends that notice and want to help. Freddie is the one to step up and make Tyson whole again.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Tyson Barrie
Comments: 3
Kudos: 81





	Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

**Author's Note:**

> Please turn away if you found this by Googling yourself or someone you know. Everything in this is a work of fiction or public knowledge facts.
> 
> This was quite a fun one to put together. So be prepared for more Tyson trade feels. There is some dubious consent which I will outline more in the end notes to avoid spoilers. If you're concerned, please take a look down there before proceeding. 
> 
> Title is John Mayer's song by the same name. It is the song Freddie and Tyson are listening to in the car and the first song of the playlist I was listening to while I wrote this. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta eafay! She does so much work for me anymore it's insane so give her some love!!!!
> 
> Please enjoy!!!

It’s not that Tyson hates his new team. They’ve been really friendly and wonderful. It’s just they’re not his. The Avalanche was his team, his teammates. They felt like home to him. He was comfortable with them. He had his person there. Nate held everything Tyson was in his hands. There wasn’t that for him here. Nowhere he could go when the tensions in him rose too high inside of him. Nowhere to keep him collected and in one piece. He felt strained and tight, unable to let go of any fears or anxieties or… or… anything that held him back. He couldn’t think straight half the time. He hated that he was dependent on Nate the way he was. It wasn’t normal, but then, nothing about Tyson was normal. 

He went to practice every day, leaving from an apartment that wasn’t his, in a city that wasn’t his, to a rink that wasn’t his. He went through the motions on the ice, barely able to handle the strain that was Babcock. He was hurting, and he knew it showed. The bags under his eyes get worse every day. The only thing really keeping him sane is Ralph. But even still, he spends most of his time poking his nose around the apartment, sniffing for a cat that isn’t there anymore. There’s always Alexander, but despite the whole name debacle, he seems to be settling well enough. The younger guys on the team are closer to his age than Tyson’s. Tyson doesn’t feel like he can connect with anyone in the locker room, not the way he connected with guys before. It doesn’t feel the same. Alexander gives him smiles whenever they catch eyes, at practice, at team dinners, in the locker room. Tyson doesn’t know how often he smiles back and if it’s more than when he just looks away. 

The Toronto club scene is larger than Denver’s. Tyson can’t tell by how much but there’s a large club scene here. It honestly makes everything worse. He can’t go to the clubs he wants because as much bigger the club scene is than Denver, the hockey scene is five times that. He’d be recognized in a heartbeat. And as the season drags on, the trade rumors start up, which only increases his chances of being recognized. He’s in so much media here, positive and negative, though mostly negative, it’s absurd. He didn’t even have this kind of coverage in Denver where !he was considered a core player no matter how many times trade rumors flew. 

It’s late in November, and Tyson actually thinks he’s going to be traded. His agent hasn’t said anything yet, but that has proven not necessarily to be good in the past. He can’t bring himself to really try anymore. What’s the point? Babcock is going to yell at him no matter what he does and he’s never going to be put in a position where he can actually operate on the ice. It’s just… too much. 

He sits in his locker, staring between his skates, after a particularly grueling practice. He watches the droplets of sweat drip onto the floor, occasionally catching on his blades and splashing spectacularly. He’s so zoned out he doesn’t even realize the beast towering over him.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. Freddie isn’t a beast, but he sure is built like one. His gaze, really at any time, is just devastatingly sexy and entirely terrifying at the same time. It’s like he stares past Tyson’s body and straight into his soul. Like, Tyson knows all goalies are weird and terrifying but generally also fun in their own ways. Tyson has yet to see Freddie’s fun side. It’s mostly just terrifying and weird. 

So yeah. Freddie is standing over him, dressed in street clothes and ready for the Toronto cold. And Tyson… Tyson is still in full gear with his helmet beside him. How long has he been sitting here?

“Come to lunch?” Freddie asks.

Tyson swallows. How has he never noticed how deep and lovely Freddie’s voice is before? He nods without thinking. 

Freddie gives him a small smile. “I’ll wait for you. Hurry up.” He says it with a joyous lilt in his voice, like he’s not commanding Tyson to strip and get in the shower as fast as humanly possible. He waits until Freddie has walked out of the locker room, cellphone in hand before standing.

He’s all by himself. Not a single person is left in the locker room. Tyson’s not sure whether he likes it or not. He strips quickly and gets into the showers. (He knows that there’s an equipment manager somewhere hating him for taking so long.) He showers quickly, just enough to feel clean and not smell. 

Freddie is waiting just outside the locker room, propped against the wall looking at something on his phone. He looks up when he hears the door open. He smiles and tucks his phone in his pocket. “There you are. Where do you want to eat?”

Tyson shrugs. In all honesty, he hasn’t really been going out to eat, and when he has with the team, he hasn’t paid attention to where they go, ordering steak and potatoes as a safe option.

Freddie gives Tyson this disapproving look that he’s seen many times before. It stings as much as it does on the ice at practice, or when the defense isn’t helping Freddie as much as they could. 

Freddie stops at his suburban and studies Tyson for a minute. Tyson shivers, the cold seeping into his wet hair. “Get in the car,” Freddie says.

Tyson does it without question. He seatbelt is buckled before Freddie even finishes sitting down. “Are you going to tell me where we’re eating?” he asks. Freddie pins him with a stare. It’s a stare that doesn’t allow for questions or kickback. Tyson can’t look away for whatever reason, so he folds his hands in his lap and lets Freddie stare at him. 

Freddie settles into his seat and finally looks away. Tyson sucks in a breath like he’d been at a loss for oxygen. Tyson doesn’t really pay attention to where they’re going, listing into the window. The cold feels good against his cheek, like it would if he had a fever. 

“Who sings this?” Freddie asks, jolting Tyson.

Tyson takes a moment to start paying attention and recognize the singer. Then, he becomes puzzled. This is one of Freddie’s Spotify playlists. He knows because he occasionally has it going in the workout room when he’s stretching and thinks he’s alone. “John Mayer,” Tyson answers when Freddie side eyes him. 

Freddie nods thoughtfully, eyes turning back to the road. There’s a knowing grin playing at his lips. It makes something stir in Tyson’s gut, but he can’t be sure of what. Freddie finds a parking space and parallel parks on the streets of Toronto. They’re outside a sushi place. Tyson secretly hopes they’re eating here. He knows they aren’t because hockey players don’t eat sushi. Not normally anyway. 

But Freddie holds open the door to the sushi place. Tyson’s trying not to beam as he walks in, but he can’t help it. He hasn’t had sushi in so long. It always makes him so happy. He refuses to think about why because he’d just be sad again and he doesn’t want to be sad while he’s eating sushi. 

Freddie gets the sake and orders sushi for them, without so much as asking Tyson what he wants. Tyson would be offended, but he likes everything Freddie ordered, so why make a fuss?

Tyson’s jiggling his foot, unsure of what to say or why they’re here. “Why are you doing this? It’s November. It’s not like I’m new to the team.” His voice is quiet. He almost wishes they were somewhere more private. He mostly wishes they weren’t here at all. 

Freddie locks eyes with him. Tyson stops shaking his leg. The knot in his stomach seems to start slowly unraveling. “Alexander’s worried about you,” Freddie says gently.

Tyson nods, swallowing harshly. If anyone would be able to read Tyson, it would be an old teammate. 

“And look,” Freddie says, shifting closer in his chair. “He’s not the only one. We know you’re a great player and for some reason it’s not translating here.”

Oh no. The knot is back. “So, this is about hockey,” Tyson says, not really a question, as he ducks his head.

“Yes,” Freddie says, “and no.” Tyson looks up. “I know Babcock doesn’t want to use you for what you’re good at because he’s stuck in his ways. But, I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re not doing well.”

Tyson swallows, almost choking. “You don’t?” His mind races. What does Freddie know? What doesn’t he know? Has he been so blatantly obvious? Did Alexander know? He feels like his whole world is falling apart around him. What is Freddie going to do? Is he going to tell Tyson that he needs to shape up one way or another or he’ll get him traded, tell his secret? His heart is racing, breathing picking up. Oh no. He can’t have a panic attack. Not here. Not now. 

“Tyson, hey, Tyson,” Freddie says. He puts his hand over Tyson’s. Tyson’s eyes snap to Freddie in an instant. Freddie is soft and calm in a way Tyson has never really seen him before. This is the goalie out of shell, the man behind the mask so to speak. Still as weird, still as freaky, but in a more friendly way. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it here. But I wanted you to know that I know, and I want to help.”

He wants to help? Does he mean…? Tyson doesn’t want to ponder that thought. It leads down too many paths, make him feel too many things at once.

Thankfully their sake and sushi shows up then. They thank the waitress. Freddie pours them both glasses. Tyson picks up his chopsticks, excited to dig in. The sushi brings Tyson a happiness he hasn’t felt in a long time. It feels good. It makes him feel warm. Or maybe that’s the sake. He hasn’t that much yet. He’s fine. He’s just full of happiness and sushi and a little sake. 

Freddie guides him back to his car to drive him home. Except they don’t go to Kadri’s… Tyson’s… place. They go to Freddie’s. Tyson shoots Freddie a confused look but doesn’t dare question him. He’ll just be pinned with that soul wrenching stare. 

There’s an elevator in Freddie’s apartment that takes them several floors up, a lot like Ka… Tyson’s apartment. Freddie lets a hand press against Tyson’s lower back. Tyson hates how much it settles the anxiety inside him. He doesn’t think it should. He doesn’t know Freddie all that well. Nowhere near as well as he knew his old team or… Nate. It’s nothing like Nate. It shouldn’t feel like Nate to him, but for some odd reason it does. 

He focuses on Freddie’s hand the way he would if it were Nate. His palm is big, covers a lot of area on Tyson back. It makes something inside of him curl in the best way. It feels warm and soft, like something Tyson could curl up in and be at ease. He wants to. He wants to find a safe place here in Toronto, if nothing else than to let him relax for once. 

He lets Freddie, with his hand still on Tyson’s back, lead him down the hallway and to his apartment. It’s large and spacious when the door opens. There’s lots of windows but they’re so high up no one can see in. They might be tinted, too. Tyson can’t be sure. The place was clearly put together by a decorator, like almost every other hockey player apartment. Freddie’s still single. He doesn’t have anyone to do it for him.

Freddie leads him to the couch. “Sit.” It’s a command, but in the softest way Tyson has ever heard. He has no reason to disobey or question, so he sits. Freddie settles carefully beside him as if not to spook a frightened animal. Freddie’s hand is gone from Tyson’s back and the anxious feelings have returned. Freddie is studying him in the barest sense of the word. He’s watching the way Tyson is holding himself, looking for something, anything… Tyson’s not sure why. 

He doesn’t notice he’s started to bounce his leg until a large hand lands on his knee. He glances down at Freddie’s large hand covering most of his knee, fingers splayed perfectly around it. He gulps and looks up. Freddie has leaned into Tyson’s space to settle him. His eyes are clear and kind. Tyson wants to listen to Freddie, let him be his safe place. He shouldn’t. He chides himself. Nate is his person. He shouldn’t want someone else. He shouldn’t need someone else. But Nate isn’t here, and Nate won’t be here. 

Freddie takes a breath. Tyson braces himself. “So, Alexander told me that you and Nate…” Freddie pauses. Tyson sees him swallow. Why would he be nervous? Freddie could destroy Tyson with one blow. What does he have to be worried about? “Well, I’m not really sure. Neither was Alexander. But he knows that Nate helped you and that you were together,” Freddie says slowly. 

Tyson nods. It was pretty well known on the team that he and Nate were together. They didn’t try to hide it. There was no reason to. 

“I… I want to help you the same way. Whatever Nate did, I can do that for you Tyson. I want to help you be the best you can be. And… if you need something… I can help.”

Tyson can’t help but bark out a laugh. “It’s not like extra training sessions or some weird yoga,” Tyson laughs. 

Freddie has this look on his face that Tyson can’t quite parse. He’s upset clearly, but not disappointed or hurt but maybe he is? “I know. It was sexual, wasn’t it?” Freddie’s voice is quiet and collected in a way Tyson’s doesn’t think it should be when talking about sex. 

“He hit me,” Tyson says bluntly, because if they’re going to talk about this, they might as well not talk in metaphors and ideas. “He’d… spank me. He got me out of my head. I think too much. I get thinking, then it turns into anxiety and I can’t really play with the anxiety. It eats me alive. It’s kind of like a revolving door because the more I think the more anxiety I have, and the more anxiety I have the more I think, and I just go down this dark hole and it’s awful. It feels like I’m paralyzed and when I’m not playing well it kind of impounds on itself and makes everything worse and Babcock yelling at me all the time isn’t helping my playing and no matter what I do I just can’t fucking stop the little wheel inside of my head telling me all the things I’m doing wrong all the time. Nate was the only one who could help.” 

Tyson looks up when he finishes, realizing that he rambled and spoke too fast, but Freddie is smiling at him. He nods and says, “Do you think I could do the same thing?”

Tyson opens his mouth to answer but realizes he doesn’t know the answer. Maybe Freddie could replace Nate. No, he could never replace Nate. No one could ever replace Nate. But he might be able to fill the hole for now, help him settle his mind and his thoughts and his anxiety from spilling over the edge like they’ve been doing far too frequently anymore. “Maybe,” is the answer he settles on. 

Freddie nods. “You want to give it a shot?”

Tyson nods. Freddie stands. Tyson’s eyes widen. “Now?”

Freddie blinks at him confused. “When did you think I meant? We don’t have a game tonight. I thought it would be a good time…” He trails off as if he realized a mistake. 

Tyson nods. He wasn’t prepared for it now, but he really wasn’t prepared for this conversation. “You’re right. Today is a good day.”

Freddie smiles. He offers his hand, and Tyson takes it. 

“So, how do we do this?” Freddie asks when they enter his bedroom which is just as polished and clean as his living room and kitchen had been. 

“Uh, well,” Tyson says, scratching the back of his neck. This is the part he should be worried about. “It’s really up to you… I can’t think about it, or, or I get to caught up in it and-”

“And you can’t relax,” Freddie interrupts.

Tyson nods. 

“Okay. You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

Tyson nods. “Don’t, like, do anything that would do more damage than just a mark or would hurt my hockey and… and don’t, like, make fun of me. Um…” Tyson’s mind is spinning in so many directions. He can’t really think of anything he didn’t let Nate do, not that Nate would even try those things, but still he can’t think. He’s sure there’s more, isn’t there?

Freddie puts a hand on Tyson’s neck, kind of cupping it gently. Things instantly clear and sharpen in Tyson’s mind, not perfectly or anything but enough he can think about what he needs to be right now. 

“No piss or scat or blood or anything like that,” he manages to get out.

Freddie nods. “If I just spank you and hold you down tonight, does that sound okay?”

Tyson nods quickly. That’s exactly what he needs. 

“Okay, okay,” Freddie says, chuckling softly. 

“And… and tell me what to do,” Tyson says. 

Freddie nods. “Take off your clothes.”

Tyson doesn’t hesitate. He starts pulling at his clothes faster than he can think. Freddie watches him, towering over him the way he always does. “Unzip me.”

Tyson goes to Freddie like a magnet. He unzips Freddie’s pants and sinks to his knees. Freddie hums. “Good. Now suck.”

Tyson licks his lips. Freddie isn’t all the way hard yet, but Tyson don’t think it will take long to get him the rest of the way. He must’ve been thinking about this while they were in the living room. Freddie’s fingers curl in his hair. “Stop thinking and suck,” he murmurs. Tyson starts to give Freddie the best blow job of his whole damn life. He takes the entire length down his throat on the first go. He only gags a little, the time not doing anything with anyone taking its toll. Freddie moans, louder than anything else he’s said since they’ve stepped foot inside his apartment. Tyson loves the sound. It’s deeps and rumbles his own insides. He pulls off and puts hard suction on the head so he can breathe a moment. Then he swirls his tongue along the crown before taking it deep again. 

Freddie’s hands aren’t really tight in his hair but they’re scratching and pulling and twisting in such a delicious way. It hurts but feels so good at the same time. Tyson could stay here for hours, just the rhythm of sucking Freddie off, his fingernails scratching his scalp. 

Freddie moans again and uses his grip in Tyson’s hair to pull him off. Tyson pants his tongue hanging out of his mouth. There’s a string of precome that attaches them, Freddie’s dick to Tyson’s tongue. Tyson rolls his tongue in a circle and the string snaps. 

When Freddie’s hands leave Tyson’s hair he whimpers. Freddie is sitting down on the bed when Tyson opens his eyes again. “Come here.”

Tyson scrambles to the bed. Freddie manhandles him over his lap. Tyson sighs. The fog is already settling over his brain. It feels good to let someone else take control, to make the decisions. It really does settle him in a way nothing else can. All thoughts just stop. 

The first hit comes, and Tyson jerks forward with a breathy gasp. It’s not hard, not really, but it stings a little, the way any kind of that takes all his focus from everywhere else in his head to just that spot on his ass. The second hit comes on the other cheek. It feels almost exactly the same, except it’s not the first hit. 

“Start counting,” Freddie says after he’s hit each cheek five times. Tyson is starting to squirm on Freddie’s lap, trying to find some friction for his dick. It’s been hard for a while now, he’s not sure when exactly though. 

Freddie hits him again. 

“One,” Tyson gasps out. That was a lot harder. Harder than all of his other hits. Tyson has just thought Freddie was afraid to hit him, but apparently, they were just getting warmed up. 

“Two,” Tyson says, breath taken from him, when the next one comes. He can feel his ass starting to heat up now. Almost like he has a fever but in a centralized spot.

“Three. Four. Five. Six.” He’s gasping after four come in quick succession. After that, he has to focus all his remaining energy on counting. He’s only focused on the sting of his ass and the numbers running through his head. 

He’s not even sure what number he just said, but another hit doesn’t come. He’s panting, barely able to take in any air. It feels like his lungs are shrinking. 

“Breathe,” Freddie whispers, lips right next to his ear. 

Tyson swallows then takes a large breath in. Then, the horniness returns and he’s squirming on Freddie’s lap again. Freddie chuckles. “You’ve done so well for me. You think you can come like this?” Tyson whines. How long has he been spanked for? He doesn’t know. Time has eluded him. 

“Such a good boy,” Freddie says, slapping his ass once more, gentler than all before. It’s really more of a tap really. Tyson cries out. He’s coming. He’s coming all over Freddie’s lap after being spanked. Oh fuck it feels good. He sags, happy to feel this floaty and good. He feels the hardness of Freddie’s own dick vaguely. So, he squirms down until he can get his mouth on it. He’s not really doing anything. He’s mouthing at the base mostly, while Freddie jerks himself off, but he’s happy to have his mouth on it. It feels good. It feels right. This feels right and normal. Freddie grunts and comes into his cupped hand. 

Tyson drifts in and out, only noticing when Freddie gets up and returns to the bed. Tyson curls into Freddie. He thinks it’s okay that he’s like this. Something smooth and soothing goes on his ass. Something warm goes between his legs, then Freddie is leaving again. 

Tyson whines until he feels the bed dip. He reaches for Freddie who pulls Tyson to him and pulls the warm blanket over them. He kisses Tyson’s forehead gently who hums back at him. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

Tyson hums in return then falls into a wonderful sleep like he hasn’t had since he left Colorado.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope ya enjoyed! Comments and kudos are life force!!! 
> 
> Dubious Consent Note: Freddie and Tyson enter into BDSM sex with very little discussion and understanding of limits and safewords. Freddie doesn't do anything Tyson doesn't want or like, but there is the ability for it because Tyson is so anxious and unfocused. He's already a little in subspace when their discussion about rules and limits starts so he is very unreliable as to what he actually wants and needs. 
> 
> As I mentioned before I really loved this and will likely make a series because I came up with so many ideas for these two while writing! So keep an eye out for those!!!


End file.
